


Snapdragon Snappity Snap Snap

by xXx31337BONER69xXx



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Date Rape, Humor, M/M, and passive aggression, fast and loose understandings of science, fighting fire with fire, i know how it looks so far but give it time, shitpost, until it suddenly stops being a shitpost and is never funny again no matter how hard it tries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-03 20:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXx31337BONER69xXx/pseuds/xXx31337BONER69xXx
Summary: So, who wants to solve a mystery? Well, too bad! The tags spoil it, anyway. Here's a better question:Can Dante solve the mystery?





	1. Chapter 1

  
**Your song of the day is the title theme from _Barbie Horse Adventures: Blue Ribbon Race_ for the GBA**

  
Like stars filling the night of a country sky, the lights of the city blinked and flickered to life as the last rays of natural light disappeared over the horizon. Comets of cars streaked down paved roads, passing towers illuminated in nebulae of neon and gold.

In a darkened corner of this metropolis, the magic of glittering treasure is reflected in the brown glass of an empty bottle of beer. A man, crowned with platinum hair and robed in crimson, holds the bottle's head between his fingers tentatively, as if it were destiny itself. Teeth sank into his lower lip, eyes filled with determination and focus.

With a flick of his wrist, the bottle was sent flying. It hung in the air, spinning once, twice- with expert precision, he reached out to catch it!

Glass shattered against the floor along with his concentration as the incessant ringing of the rotary phone brought him crashing back to the present.

"Almost had it that time," Dante muttered, kicking the shards under his desk before sitting down to answer.

"Devil May Cry: You got em, I kill 'em. Cash up front-" the hunter began, only to be interrupted by a familiar laugh.

"_You wish!_" Nero teased.

"Oh, come on! I won that bet and you know it!"

"_Whatever. How about a job instead? I got a hot tip: Bunch of cultists made a mess at the mini-putt early this morning. You wanna check it out with me?_"

"This _morning_?" Dante had started to relax into a comfortable slouch, but this new detail caught enough of his attention that he sat back up. "That's practically yesterday!"

"_Yeah, I know. Apparently, they can't afford to close for a day. Besides, when we're done looking, we can hang around in case the cultists come back._"

This incident was, more than likely, a false alarm. However, the local mini-putt was famous for their _excellent_ soft-serve recipe, and Nero knew the location alone would be enough to entice his uncle into the plan.

"So, it's a stakeout?" Dante confirmed, his mind already racing with plans to find a way into the kitchen for an advanced payment. "Smart thinking, kid! Alright, I'll meet you there."

"_Yeah? I could give you the ride, you know_."

"Oh yeah," he assured, looking at the ceiling with a knowing smile. "Trust me, kid, when it comes to cultists you want all the info you can get."

  
If Vergil had learned anything in the years of his life, it was that everything had a price. There would always be some form of trade off, even if it went unseen. Some consequence to every choice, and that one must always be prepared to pay.

So when the heavy footsteps finished racing to the top of the stairs, Vergil stifled a sigh. Clearly, peace and quiet were what he'd have to forgo.

"Hey, Verge!" Dante asked, casually, as if the kick he'd used to open the door hadn't shook the entirety of the upstairs. "There something on the other side of the mini-putt we gotta worry about?"

"... Pardon?"

"Miniature golf? Place west of town? Giant seashell, tiny windmill, good ice cream? Is there anything on the other side?" Dante elaborated, not that his seemingly random list of words were at all useful to the man who'd spent most of his life in hell.

Snapping his book shut, Vergil looked up with a piercing glare, all too ready to let his little brother know _exactly _how close he was to exceeding his daily tolerance.

"What makes you think I know, let alone _care_, about miniature golf?" he hissed, knuckles white as he gripped the leather bound spine.

"Oh, no," Dante chuckled, "I meant hell-wise. Nero got a call 'bout some cultists holding a ritual there, so I figured you'd have an idea on what they're after."

"_Fine_," Vergil relented, heaving a sigh through tightly gritted teeth, "I'll come and look, but you should know I'm not about to-"

In a flash the book had been yanked from his hands and his arm was clutched in his brother's inhuman vice-like grip. Dante charged down the stairs and out the door like a barbarian raider, nearly throwing Vergil into the motorbike with a triumphant yell.

It had become a mantra, by this point. A prayer- no, a meditation. As the elder Sparda gripped the hilt of the Yamato, he reminded himself: _All things came at a price_.

-

All but lost beneath the towering grey concrete of the city is a lot, a patch of surreal greenery locked behind a chain-link fence and faded peach rental building. An Eden of picturesque farmhouses and windmills, seated around a lake of brilliant blue. An over-sized ceramic conch shell sits on an island in the center, serving as a fountain and basic irrigation system- the minimum requirements by the city's health and safety committee.

Perched atop the employee gate of the fence, a silver-haired boy on the cusp of adulthood kicked his legs with growing impatience. The blackened windows of the miniature ghost-town bore into his back, and though he could sense nothing, the feeling of being watched still lingered.

"Finally," he muttered, hopping down to greet the all too familiar bike as it roared into the parking lot.

"Why'd you bring him?" Nero called out as he approached, giving a nod to his father.

"To get to the other side!" Dante shot back, laughing a little harder at his joke when the kid hit him in the arm.

"Fuck off, that was terrible!"

"C'mon, you set me up! I couldn't help it!"

"_Nero_." The name cut through their amicable reunion like the blade of its speaker. Cold, effective, and deadly.

"I'm not here to waste time," Vergil warned, brow creasing over narrowed eyes, and his brother threw up his hands in a show of mock-surrender.

"C'mon, kid. You heard Captain Buzzkill, what's the plan?"

Nero rolled his eyes and gave the faded building a nod, motioning for the others to follow his lead.

"Not much left to plan around, I'm afraid," the young man confessed, entering a series of numbers into the employee-only side door. "Like I said, this happened sometime this morning, and I didn't hear about it until maybe an hour ago."

It opened into a back room, somewhere behind the front counter, that housed a fairly basic kitchen set-up. A small plastic table was set up along the outward wall, a few cheap chairs shoved underneath.

"Obviously, they've cleaned up, but," Nero got down on one knee and ran a finger along the floor and the wall, looking closely at the residue under his nail. "The dust might not be chalk but the black is _definitely_ wax."

"Well, Verge? Any words from the resident expert?" Dante teased.

Vergil glanced around the room, ever narrowed eyes surveying every inch of the small employee office.

"There," he finally spoke, pointing out an overlooked spray of dark splatter, partially hidden by a trash bin.

"Dried blood. High velocity, so I doubt it was accidental… " he trailed off, looking back to his son and giving the youth a curt nod.

"If there is anything of value to this place, I suppose it would be beneficial to know in advance should any serious attempts be made."

His brother gave a low whistle and glanced to Nero, sharing a look of incredulity. Was Vergil _agreeing_ with them?

Before they could check the calendar for bizarre planetary anomaly, a line as weightless as a spider's silk cut the air in front of them, hanging suspended in time before it burst into blue ethereal light.

Vergil stepped inside without so much as a backwards glance, but Dante made sure to give Nero a cheerful salute before charging, full speed, after his brother.

-

"FBI! EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND!" he barked, having vaulted through the portal and landing an extravagant front flip in a braced kneel, guns drawn and ready to open fire…

Blinking back his confusion, Dante slowly brought himself to a stand and looked around at the smooth stone walls of the empty room.

"Hey, Verge? 'S it just me, or are we literally the only ones here?" he called behind him. For all the hunter's demonic blood, for all his heightened senses, the place was absolutely desolate. A small archway split the room in half, though it seemed to act more as a decorative patrician than another wall.

Nearly inaudible, the steady footfalls of the elder twin echoed faintly across the slate tile floor as he approached. Dante casually leaned back into his presence, brushing stray hairs from his eyes with a frown.

"You got any ideas?" he asked, turning around just in time to have a cloud of rust coloured powder thrown in his face.

"_Oh!_ Son of a bitch- _What the hell was that?_" Dante yelled, eyes screwed shut as he staggered back, choking in fevered desperation as he tried to clear his throat.

"Burns- _Shit!_ 'slike inhaling napalm- _Fuck!_"

"I can't tell if you asked, but I'm _not okay!_ My fucking lungs are on fire!" he shrieked, practically shaking as he dropped to his knees.

Cold as polished glass, Vergil's narrow eyes watched impatiently as Dante's protests devolved into piercing screams, echoing back off the stonework in a private choir of agony.

"You know well enough that I was never going to ask," he muttered, folding his arms.

"Wait, no-" he caught himself with a satisfied smile, "that was one of those 'sarcastic double-bluffs', wasn't it."

Of course, Vergil was talking to himself, all casual observations lost to the thunderous cracking of stone tiles as Dante, consumed by an otherworldly force, beat impressions of his fists into the floor.

Heart still pounding in his ears, knuckles bloodied and raw, Dante thought he could finally sense the pain begin to subside into a haze...

Then it all went black.

-

Dante awoke in a pile of rubble, his vision blurry and memory failing.

"So-" he began, only to be interrupted with a dry cough, his throat strangely raw. "So, did I win?"

Freeing himself, he stumbled to a staggering stand and looked around. He'd been smashed through some kind of stone archway, but there didn't seem to be anything else around.

"Because I'm pretty sure I won that," Dante continued, voice echoing off the remaining stone walls of the, apparently, empty room.

"Hello-o? Is anyone else ho-ome?" he called out in singsong, "bring on the cheerleaders, I'm good for my prize now!"

"I'll also take a homely science teacher and a blue ribbon!" he offered, taking a few careful steps through the remains of the arch to check the other side.

"... Dead-eyed cashier and a gift certificate?" he called, reluctantly lowering the bargain again, though there was still no sign of anyone.

It was clear, as Dante circled back around the ruined wall, that he'd been in a fight. This in itself wasn't unusual, but as he turned a dusty chunk of rock over in his hand, he knew something about it didn't quite add up.

Finally, the sound of footsteps, familiar in their confident stride, echoed against the tiles behind him.

"_Dante_." Cold as ever, the name cut through the silence without reverberation. A command, curt in its brevity and sharp as his blade.

"Damn, it was just you," the hunter's jovial smirk betraying the conventional disappointment of the phrase.

"I still won, though."

"Congratulations, I'll let you keep thinking that," Vergil answered, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

"Well?" Nero prompted, looking up from his phone when his father and uncle finally returned.

Dante groaned and dropped himself into the seat beside his nephew, throwing his feet up onto the table. "Total. Bust."

"You were there over _four hours!_"

Vergil's hand twitched, the outburst finally prompting his cold gaze to acknowledge his son. "A thorough and valiant effort, I can assure you, but there is nothing more to discuss."

"Alright, easy- easy!" Dante said, standing up to put himself between the two in a makeshift act of mediation.

"This whole night sucked, I agree, but y'know what?" he smiled, eyes gleaming with anticipation as he nodded to the kitchen. "There's no reason we can't get _somethin_' outta this."

While his father was quick to turn on his heels and leave, Nero simply groaned.

"I'm just saying: You've been here for four hours, I've... _basically_ been here for four hours, and I operate cash up front. Therefore," Dante reasoned, pushing open the door and leading the youth out to the polished chrome soft-serve dispenser. "The least we deserve is some _payment_."

"I can't believe I'm helping you do this," Nero chuckled, pressing his free hand against his forehead while the other reached out to take the controls.

"All you gotta do is pull the lever when I'm ready, yeah?" Dante leaned down and pressed the side of his face against the machine.

"Okay, go!"

Though it may have seemed like a brilliant plan when he'd thought it up only moments before, it was clear now that the execution was somewhat flawed. The nozzle hadn't been fully aligned to his open mouth, and vanilla ice cream went straight up his nose. Coughing, Dante then hit his head trying to get out from under the dispenser, promptly lost his balance, and crashed to the floor while Nero howled with laughter.

From his place on the ground, Dante pumped his fist into the air. "Worth it!"

  
Dante would later realize, once he and Nero had parted ways in the parking lot, that Vergil hadn't actually left. He'd assumed, as was often the case, that his older brother had taken Yamato and left the moment his part in the 'job' was done.

Yet, there he was. Cold eyes glowering intently from the shadows.

"You forget the way back or somethin'?" Dante joked, smirk growing at his brother's obvious disgust as Vergil looked him over. The younger Sparda was, after all, covered in dirt and splattered down the front with drying vanilla ice cream.

The elder twin muttered something and made a vague gesture in his direction, before shaking his head and turning away.

"Of course this is what I wanted!" Dante called back, watching Vergil disappear into the shadows with a flash of blue light. He ran a free hand through his hair with a sigh. His brother could be such a pain.

**REAL DETECTIVE HOURS!!! SMASH YOUR BETS INTO THE COMMENTS FOR THE WHO, WHY, AND _WHAT_ OF THE FUCK'S GOING ON!**

**Also, big thanks to anyone leaving Cujos on this work!! Please remember to feed and love all good dogs the world over!!!!!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Your song for the day is _Can't You See_ by Skylar Spence, the artist formerly known as Saint Pepsi.**

  
Sterile floodlights painted the round concrete walls in a cold white; the empty tunnel stretching endlessly into an infinite distance. Feet bare, Dante stood between parallel steel tracks, the loose shirt of his food-stained pajamas fluttering in a sudden violent rush of wind.

One by one, the lights flickered and died, until a final spotlight remained above the figure at the far end.

Vergil's eyes shone, brilliant and dangerous. The lights of a train hurtling down the tracks. His mouth moved without sound, yet Dante knew he'd heard this speech before. Though his brother stepped forward into the darkness, the legendary hunter didn't react.

"Think he means any of that?" A man, pale as the moon and buried under dark curls and thick fur, asked with a casual nod.

"I sure hope so," Dante answered, and turned to look at his new company with a curious frown.

"Hang on," he realized, "I know you! You're from that fantasy show the kid watches!"

The stranger grinned, and extended a hand with a quick motion to himself. "Jack Frost."

Laughing, Dante clapped 'Jack's' open palm in a low-five, and shook his head. "That's not your name!"

The words are lost within the shrill screech of a train's whistle. Vergil's closed in on him. They're face to face, and Dante is standing in front of a mirror. The world is ablaze, and his reflection reaches out to grab his throat-

  
Hinges creaked as the door clicked open, and his brother's impatient presence marched into the room. Sensing him, Dante opened an eye and rolled over on the bed with a tired grunt.

"Hurry up, we have work to do." Vergil reminded, looming over his bleary-eyed twin with arms folded. Still muddled with sleep, Dante frowned in confusion as he tried to blink some clarity into his vision.

"For want of a brain," Vergil muttered, pressing a hand against his eyes. "Don't tell me you've forgotten the job from yesterday. We met Nero at that miniature place across town, with the windmill and that oversized seashell?"

"Yeah, nothing was there," Dante answered, dismissing the reminder with a snort before pulling the covers back around him. "Now get the fuck outta my room an' lemme sleep some more-"

"There didn't _seem_ to be anything," Vergil corrected, snatching the blanket from his brother with enough force to pull him back into a sit. "I've been consulting some additional research, and I have a theory."

"Won't the kid be pissed you're takin' his job?" The hunter protested, though he knew it would be futile to use his nephew to stay his brother's plans.

"If I'm right, there will be more than enough work to go around." The elder Sparda's lip curled into a self-satisfied smirk, adding an unspoken '_and I'm never wrong._'

Dante rolled his eyes, but relented. Refusing to leave the bed, however, he leaned over the side and sifted through a pile of his previously-discarded clothes for his boots. He forwent any socks, and simply tucked the frayed hems of his sweatpants into the boots before pulling the laces tight and standing up.

"You're still in your pajamas," Vergil observed, nostrils flaring as he eyed the splattered array of stains across his brother's t-shirt.

"And I'm not changing out of them. C'mon, let's get this done."

In another flash of brilliant light, the brothers Sparda were transported once more into the empty stone chamber.

"Well, would you look at that!" Dante threw out his arms in a grand gesture of annoyance. "There's _still_ nothing here! You were wrong! Now let's go back, I've got shit to do today that I'm trying to avoid."

Though he'd braced himself for the expected retaliation, it never came. Perplexed, Dante turned around to face his brother, their eyes meeting as Vergil cast him a sidelong glance.

"... Verge?" he asked, though the question was just as much for himself as it was his brother. Something in the back of the younger twin's mind stirred. Vergil was facing him now, and he was smiling. A foreboding sight to be sure, and yet there was more. The shadow of a memory trying desperately to claw its way to the surface---

The click-clack of expensive heels strode confidently into Devil May Cry, stopping to kick an empty can out of their path.

"Hello?" a woman's voice called out, and Dante immediately pulled an empty pizza box over his head, intent on snuggling deeper into his comfortable refuge.

"Fuck off, s'no one here," he grumbled.

Hesitant, but still overtaken by curiosity, the newcomer took a few cautious steps towards the desk. There was a crash as debris was shoved to the floor and, now that she'd cleared enough space, Trish hopped up and leaned over.

"... Dante? Is that you down there?" she asked, giggling as the pile of aluminum and cardboard shifted in response. From her newfound perch, she could _just_ make out a few elusive white strands of the man's hair.

Heaving a sigh, she landed on the other side and knelt down.

"Come on, rise and shine," she whispered, reaching under the trash to give Dante's shoulder a friendly shake.

"Trish? The fuck you doin' in my room?" he asked, finally lifting his head from the comfortable pile of debris.

"You're downstairs under the desk. Don't tell me your room looks this bad, too!"

Dante's eyes snapped open, suddenly wide awake. A quick glance down saw him in a stained yellow t-shirt, printed with a black snake proudly coiled around an automatic rifle. Loose grey sweatpants were hastily tucked into his boots. He was still in his pajamas, just as he had been when he'd flopped onto his bed the night before...

Pushing a hand through his hair, Dante frowned. Sure, he may have simply gotten hungry and taken a nap once he'd eaten his fill of leftovers, and yet... Something was missing. There had been something else--

"Seriously, Dante," Trish's voice pulled him back from his thoughts, "Why haven't you thrown out your trash?"

"It's complicated," the hunter began, finding it in himself to actually look somewhat ashamed. "Y'see, I-"

"Dante!"

"I _can't!_" he blurted, the confession startled from him, much to the confusion of his company.

Heaving a sigh, Dante placed his head in his hands, then dragged them down his face as he tried to explain the situation.

"Remember how there was that weird noise behind the shop? That thumpy, scratchy, scream-y noise?" he asked, and when Trish nodded, he motioned to the back door.

"It's a raccoon."

Trish swept the blond cascade of her hair back over her shoulder, and stared. Dante made a point to avoid her gaze, as it always struck him with the unshakable sense that he was a scolded child.

"Last I checked, those weren't exactly _apex predators_," she noted. "You _do_ realize you hunt demons for a living, right?"

"Exactly! _Demons_. Not animal control, not social services, just plain old ordinary demons. I don't have the time or qualifications to deal with this thing."

"You- If anything, you're _overqualified_! And considering I caught you mid nap, you're clearly not that busy."

"Okay, fine," he groaned, "maybe I'm just ignoring the problem and hoping it'll go away on its own."

Trish raised a brow and gestured at the mess around them with a questioning smirk.

"Dante, if you keep ignoring this problem, it'll move in with you!" she warned.

"Hey, hey-" he protested, "that only happened once, and he's hardly ever here!"

At the mention of Vergil, a grim shadow fell across the woman's face and she leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"Speaking of, you'd better wrangle that psycho brother of yours in. I caught him creeping around my place earlier."

"The fuck would- _Oh!_ The mini-putt!" It all came back, pieces of a chaotic puzzle snapping perfectly into place.

"See, a bunch of cultists made a mess of the mini-putt the other day, so we went over to check it out. Didn't find anything, but then Verge gets me outta bed at fuck-off o'clock in the morning sayin' he's been doing research, and suddenly _I've_ gotta help test his theory," he explained.

Though it was certainly a _reasonable_ explanation, something about the timeline of events didn't quite add up for Trish, who gave the man a slow nod.

"Right... Well, I'd better get going. Try and actually deal with this, okay?"

  
Though he'd have been perfectly content to ignore the warning and spend the rest of the day lounging at the desk in his pajamas, Trish had brought to light a very troublesome inevitability:

If the raccoon got in the shop, it'd leave the place uninhabitable. It might chew the legs of his vintage pool table, or pee on his clothes, or- and the mere thought churned Dante's stomach- what if the thing ate all his pizza?

So it was with newfound resolve, or perhaps blind panic, that Dante jumped to his feet and hurried around the shop. Practically shoveling the clutter into the thick industrial bags, he managed to fill four with trash from both upstairs and down. They sat patiently by the back door, waiting for whatever moment Dante would stop stalling for time. He'd taken a break to throw some clothes on and slowly, properly, lace up his boots. Now, however, he could delay it no longer.

Reluctantly, the back door swung open into the alley. It was a foul, dingy place that even the brightest rays of afternoon sun dared not touch. Propped against the neighboring building were three green bins, freshly painted and firmly locked, in glaring contrast to the rusted box that had been provided to the Devil May Cry in order to keep it 'up to code.' Though he couldn't see inside, Dante knew the beast had heard him.

Throwing a bag over his shoulder, the legendary hunter took a few careful steps towards the dumpster and launched the bag as hard as he could. There was an ear-piercing shriek, and a bloated mass of hair and claws came scrambling out of the bin, eyes bulging. The raccoon charged Dante, teeth bared, and thinking quickly he flung himself back through the door, slamming his back against it while the creature's shrieks and howls rang in his ears.

Until, that is, the ringing stopped and the answering machine clicked on.

"Mini-putt's in chaos!" Nero's voice, rushed with panic but jovial from adrenaline, echoed through the shop. "We were wrong- _shit_\- Get the fuck out here!"

Dante looked down at the other bags, weighed the options in his head, and bolted for the front door with a wild grin.

**Edited this like twice and I'm making this update via mobile. I am too far gone to stop now. Sorry guys.**

**Oh, and yes. _Yes_, Dante's wearing a variant/novelty Gadsden shirt. Y'ain't steppin' on his snakes.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Your song of the day isn't nearly as important as my blaming both Cain, and the ENTIRE STATE of Louisiana for the delay. You can find Cain right here on AO3 at CrowsBeforeBeus, if you wish to lodge any formal complaints because he’s a ** ** _fuck_ ** **.**

Clouds of thick black smoke filled the air and painted the sky with long streaks of moody indigo. Though the brakes screeched in protest, Dante skidded his bike to a stop across the street the second he arrived on the scene.

"The _ fuck? _" he breathed, staring at the unfolding carnage in slack-jawed amazement. Like a plague of locusts, a veritable pestilence of Empusa had descended upon the mini-putt with the apocalyptic wrath of ancient testaments. The rental building was no more than a blackened, smoking crater, from which the demons spilled in endless waves. They were crawling up from the rubble, falling into the pond, digging through the bushes, and even breaking into the tiny farmhouses!

"Took you long enough!"

"Nero!" Dante ran up and vaulted over the fence to give his nephew an amicable shove, a move the boy was quick to make tactical as he plunged his sword into an oncoming bug. 

"Damn it, kid, you've pissed 'em off!"

"What, you wanna reason with them instead?" Nero quipped, shaking the lesser's corpse from his blade with a quick flick of his wrist. 

"Just doesn't make any sense," Dante muttered. In the three times he'd been behind the mini-putt, not _ once _ had there been a single sign of life. In fact, he didn't even remember there being a way in or _ out _ of the strange room, and if it hadn't been for Vergil and the Yamato-

"Heads up!" Nero shouted, interrupting the train of thought by practically crashing into Dante as he shoved his uncle out of the way, spearing two more Empusa like a freakish bug-kebab.

Staggering back, but not missing a beat, Dante drew both guns and charged for the source of the chaos. Black smoke seared in his nose and burning flecks of charcoal and debris fell into his eyes, but he pressed on, intent to throw himself guns blazing into the heart of the fray- only to find himself stayed.

For it was in that moment the wind shifted, parting the veil of smoke to reveal that, as if by some divine miracle, half of the building had managed to survive. There, partially sheltered from the blast though still covered in ash, gleamed the chrome surface of the famed soft-serve dispenser. It had been spared the gruesome fate of the building's collapse, but his were not the only eyes drawn in by the shiny metal.

Thinking quickly, Dante tore open a nearby rack of brightly coloured putting clubs and took one in each hand, brandishing his improvised weapons with childish glee. He charged at the unsuspecting swarm, and though his swings went wide with reckless abandon, it did little to thin the crowd. Clearly, this would require more precision, and as Dante skidded across the green to duck a bug that launched for his face, he sank his teeth into the pink rubber handle, ripping it off to expose the metal rod within. He spat the shredding to the side, where it plunked neatly into a nearby hole. Though the hunter took no time to celebrate this achievement, Dante did catch how Nero stopped to give him a tasteful clap.

With the metal rod exposed, Dante wasted no time in thrusting the makeshift spear between the eyes of the Empusa he'd so deftly evaded.

A step backwards to steady himself pressed Dante’s back against a cool, familiar surface; the iconic shell fountain at the center of the course. He’d only just gotten his bearings when another Empusa, sent flying by a wild strike from Nero, flew towards his face.

"_Fore!_" he yelled, and swung the bright pink club. Blood and fleshy chitin exploded in a cloud of colour and sinew as the demon's head went flying over the fence, glistening visceral fluid splattering across the road with a wet _ thud _.

Dante jumped onto the ceramic seashell and twirled the club like a baton, then raised it in the air with a gleeful shout.

"Avert your eyes, lowly peasants! I, Dante, am _ King of the Conch _!" he called, time slowing to a halt as the clouds above him briefly parted. Light bathed the hunter’s silhouette in regal splendor, illuminating the crown of his hair and gilding it with gold and electric blue.

A swift kick against his spine sent Dante crashing to the ground, an ocean of azurite mist swirling together in his wake, forming the shadow that was his elder twin. Yamato slid into her sheath with a satisfying click; a faint but powerful sound that echoed through the course like a shockwave.

Vergil surveyed the scene below him, his eyes clear and cold as a winter sky but lips curling into a familiar smile.

“Come along then,_ your highness _, we’re done here.”

Dante whirled around, scrambling up from the scuffed green and pulling himself to his feet.

“What part of any of this has been a ‘_ we’ _situation? You just got here! The source of the swarm-” he began, confusion blending seamlessly with his annoyance at how he’d been upstaged.

“Has been taken care of,” Vergil assured him, jumping down from the decoration with his usual grace. He motioned for Dante to follow, smoke clearing before him as he walked towards the road.

His mirror hung back, however, brow creased as he replayed the moment in his mind. A look around the mini-putt showed that Vergil was right; no new Empusa had crawled forth from the black and smoking crater, leaving only the corpses he and Nero had slain rotting on the ground.

Faintly, Dante shook his head, and when he felt his nephew’s presence approach his arm shot out to grab the youth’s shoulder.

“Kid, hang on-” Dante stopped to look over, ensuring his brother was far enough away, “I gotta borrow your phone.”

“Sure,” Nero answered, withdrawing the device without a second thought. “You callin’ Lady, or?”

“Nah. Y’re dad’s up to somethin’ and I wanna get proof,” his uncle explained, only for the phone to be snatched away before so much as grazing his fingertips.

“Over my dead body!” The comment was emphasized with an exaggerated step backwards as Nero hurriedly shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Can’t you just get a disposable camera? Or something that’s not mine?”

“Because he’ll see me take the photos and cut the camera in half,” Dante answered with a huff, rolling his eyes at this obvious, and inevitable, conclusion. “C’mon, Nero! It’s a foolproof plan: I bring your phone and call you so you can listen in, we’ll catch him in the act!”

Lips pulled to the side in his usual, almost pained reaction, Nero’s posture took on a new familiarity as he pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and slid his fingers up his brow and through his hair as a slow breath escaped his teeth.

“You know what? I’ve got something in the glovebox that might work better. C’mon.”

After a few moments scrambling and a long string of colourful expletives, Nero finally unearthed the tiny electronic that had followed him for almost a decade. As he turned it on to check the battery, he couldn’t help a smile. Ever reliable, he’d never been able to dispose of it, even once his phone had rendered it obsolete.

“Still got about 60% battery left. Should be about eight, maybe ten hours,” Nero’s voice was tired, his heart oddly heavy as he handed the device to his uncle.

“The hell’s this?” Dante asked, turning it over in his hands. A rounded rectangle, about the size of his thumb, with a tiny screen and a busted clip at the back. He clicked the hinge a few times.

“Old MP3 player,” Nero explained, shoveling clutter back into the glovebox in an effort to ignore himself. “Look, the mic isn’t horrible, and since I just use my phone now, I don’t care if this breaks.”

“Huh. Neat,” the comment fell from the hunter’s mind without thought as he played with the buttons and watched the screen light up. A tiny menu listed the various features, and just as his nephew had said, the word RECORDING took him to a new screen where a tiny illustration of a microphone sat above a bright red circle and the simple text: START

“Thanks!” Dante answered as he pocketed the device and clapped Nero on the back.

“Hey, just make sure you actually _ save _the recording, alright?”

“Yeah, hit the buttons, got it,” the hunter called back, having already started towards his makeshift parking space on the other side of the road.

Vergil hadn’t been waiting for him when Dante left the mini-putt, and returning to the shop found that it, too, was empty...

Empty except, of course, the bags of trash that had been discarded and ignored when he’d run outside.

Just as he'd set foot on the first stair, intent to ignore the pile of garbage for a second time that day, Dante was suddenly struck with another  _ brilliant  _ plan. 

The upstairs of his beloved shop was a far cry from a traditional loft or apartment, offering little more than a tiny bathroom, an empty room he'd claimed for his bed, and a single square window. Of course, the window didn't look out over the alley, but Dante was delighted to find it would be  _ just _ large enough for him to climb through if he dislocated a shoulder and crawled out one leg at a time. With any luck, he'd be able to pull a garbage bag through, hug the wall, and make it around the corner to airdrop the trash into the open bin below.

Acting quickly, Dante snatched up the closest bag and bounded up the stairs, leaping two at a time in his haste. It was a bit trickier than he'd expected, the window hinges creaking in protest as he forced himself through, but with a bit of ingenuity and a certain foreboding  _ crack _ , Dante succeeded. 

With the sack slung over his shoulder, the hunter gripped at the cracks of the brick wall with his free hand as he shimmied precariously along the narrow ledge, realizing too late that he might have had a better hold in his bare feet. Still, Dante pressed himself as flat as he could against the wall as he hugged the corner, free hand grasping almost blindly for the security of the drainpipe- anything to keep himself from losing his balance. 

Just as he felt himself begin to tip, the contents of the garbage bag shifting so as to dangerously change his center of balance, Dante's hand caught the cold metal pipe like a lifeline. The tension finally leaving his shoulders, the hunter looked up with a smile-

Eyes, crazed and bulging, stared back as the feral raccoon hissed down at him from its perch above his drain. A startled yelp caught in Dante's throat as he flinched, lost his footing, and fell backwards into the open dumpster. 

As he lay there, surrounded by trash with a leg sticking out of the bin, Dante had to admit; his plan had a few flaws.

**oh jeez it's been a whole ass year and now everyone's dying of the plague. I hope this actually formats, because I've straight up forgot how that works.**


End file.
